


In the Ever After

by ElizaStormborn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, POV Rhaella Targaryen, Rhaella gets her piece of happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaStormborn/pseuds/ElizaStormborn
Summary: A mother sees everything - even if she’s not there.The Fates had warned Rhaella against watching them, and for the first year she had somehow been able to resist the temptation. Eighteen years later, she didn’t know why she had bothered listening to them. Now, all she did was wonder about what parts of their lives she missed in that gap.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaegar Targaryen & Rhaella Targaryen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	In the Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> This is Rhaella's story first and foremost.
> 
> Hopefully, I've done it justice. 
> 
> ~ * ~
> 
> **Please note:** This story discusses aspects of an afterlife. I've done my best to keep this story religiously neutral. Any connection to current world religions is accidental. 
> 
> If this offends anyone, I apologize in advance. 
> 
> ~ * ~
> 
> Happy Reading!

It was an accidental meeting that had brought the two together. Rhaella however, had long ago stopped believing in accidents. Fate, or more specifically _the Fates_ , she knew had played a much larger role than they would admit to. Either way, she believed it to be for the better as she watched the figures. Speaking animatedly to one another, they flitted between random topics of conversation. In the recent months since they had met, there had been a noticeably welcome change in both individuals. The usually stoic demeanour of the boy had been softened as he learned to better enjoy the lighter moments of life. He was happier, he laughed more, and he didn’t retreat as much into himself as he once had. And with newfound freedom, the girl was encouraged to pursue _her_ ambitions in life and let go of the pressure to live up to the perceived expectations of those around her.

Despite this, Rhaella was acutely aware that the Fates were a cruel mistress, and when scorned they held nothing back as they consumed everything and anyone around – even if it was to settle the score with one person. But they paid their debts to those caught in the crossfire. Years ago, they gave Rhaella access to the Great Room. When she had stepped inside for the first time, she had been confused by the emptiness inside the expansive room. Standing at the top of a short marble staircase, Rhaella had thought it was a cruel joke as she took in the pool of still water that covered the entire floor.

Weeks later Rhaella discovered the room’s purpose. Acting as a two-way mirror, the miniature lake allowed the occupant of the Great Room to see the present-day goings of those still on Earth.

Over the course of many years, she had watched many random events in the lives of various people. Most often, she would watch the people who had been a part of her life. However, after hours of watching her friends and loved ones, she would eventually be reminded of the aching hole in her heart.

When she first realized the significance of the gift the Fates had given her, Rhaella’s first inclination had of course been to see and hear the sounds of life from the family she had left behind. But, for reasons she couldn’t even remember, the Fates had warned her against watching them. For the entire first year, she had somehow been able to resist the temptation. Eighteen years later, however, she couldn’t fathom why she had bothered listening to them. Now, all she did was wonder about the parts of Jon and Daenerys’ lives that she had missed in that gap. In the time that had passed, Jon would be approaching the nineteen-month mark, Daenerys a year. They both would have already grown so quickly, and she could only imagine what it would’ve been like to be present as they took their first step or to hear their first words. It was all these precious stages of their early childhood that she regretted not being a part of.

After that first year of abstinence, she finally gave in to her desires. For the first time in the almost two years since his birth, Rhaella had laid eyes on her youngest grandson. It was an easy decision to seek him out first, knowing that looking for her youngest child would be too painful of a place to start. She had been thrown off when instead of the baby’s face she had irrational envisioned, there was a quiet toddler with short whips of dark curls on his head and grey eyes in his place. He was all Stark – all Lyanna. And as beautiful as that made him, Rhaella would be remiss if she didn’t admit she was saddened by the lack of Targaryen features. It took another two years for her to see the physical remnants of his father. The way his cupid’s bow dipped crookedly by the slightest fraction to the left and the brown oval-shaped birthmark on his left wrist were all Rhaegar. They may not have been classic Targaryen features, but they were living pieces of Rhaegar, and somehow that was more beautiful.

As he grew older, he grew more into his Stark and Targaryen features. So much so, Rhaella often questioned how no one else had picked up on his resemblance to both his parents. At ten and two, his voice deepened into a true northern bur, but it was rarely heard as he had inherited his broody mannerisms as his father. He took up fencing at ten and six, and he wielded his sword with agility and grace that, thankfully, was bestowed upon him from his mother. He was a skilled fighter, but also had the natural charisma of a leader. By the time he was twenty and three, he had been a part of the Night’s Watch Rangers for five years, rising through the ranks to become Lord Commander. In doing so, he became the youngest Lord Commander and proven himself as a competent leader for two more tours of duty before being medically discharged halfway through his third tour.

It was bittersweet knowing he was there, and they were _here,_ but she still thanked the Fates and Gods for small mercies. She and Rhaegar had gotten the last laugh with every breath Jon took on Earth. She comforted herself with the knowledge that he was safe from at least one monster that had roamed the Earth.

From the moment she first laid eyes on Jon, and shortly after Daenerys, Rhaella seldom allowed the image to change from them. It had proven to be a challenge at first, but by their sixth birthdays, she learned how to keep the water’s image split between the two. It was a moot skill now as she rarely needed to do so anymore. Not since the day they had met over six moons ago. As they continued to grow more acquainted with one another, she was inclined to believe she would soon never have to go searching for them individually.

Distracted by her thoughts, Rhaella didn’t hear the audible groan of the Great Room’s wooden doors opening. “Mother?”

Turning towards the voice, Rhaella smiled at Rhaegar. Reaching her hand out towards him she said nothing as she beckoned him to join her.

Her eyes followed him as the edges of his favoured grey robe grazed over the surface of the pool, the gown sagged slightly under the added weight of the wet hem. As he waded into the ankle-deep water, his movements caused the image to distort briefly as ripples broke over the surface of Daenerys’ smile.

His brow furrowed in concentration. “What are they doing today?”

“Another date,” she teased. Her bell-like laugh echoed off the marble columns as she watched Rhaegar’s mouth twitch from the corner of her eye. He had the same reaction every time she mentioned the blossoming relationship between the pair. Smiling, she added, “They’ll be good for one another – already are in many ways. This is only the beginning.”

“Mother, please,” he whined. “That’s my sister and my son. I’m still adjusting to the thought that they are no longer children. The possibility of more between them is disconcerting.”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I’m afraid they are not babes anymore. In less than year he’ll be older than you.”

“Don’t remind me of that either, _please_.” Rhaegar sighed, the resignation evident in his voice, “And it’s not courting, it’s called dating now mother. We’re not in the courts anymore.”

It was different for Rhaegar, he hadn’t been able to watch them as she had. From what he had described to her, he could only see fuzzy shapes and outlines that moved across the water’s surface. Neither of them understood why she could see clear images and he couldn’t. But she knew being unable to see his surviving son grow and become a man caused him undue pain. Rhaegar had taken solace in nurturing Rhaenys and Egg, but it would never be the same. Rhaella mourned for her eldest child who would never experience the privilege of watching his children grow old.

Everything here, in the _Ever After_ , was so different, yet also frighteningly similar to the life they had left behind. The Ever After was an almost perfect replica of life on Earth, with many of the same sights and sounds. Only here nothing aged. Including them. Even the flowers remained in a permanent bloom, never fading or wilting in the slightest. It was difficult to conceptualize the passing of time here without the visual cues. That made it nearly impossible to grasp just how many years had passed. Even though Rhaella had the pool and she could use it to gauge time by the passage of significant holidays or events on Earth, it was not a perfect process.

A forlorn look passed over Rhaegar’s face. “What do you think they know about us?”

Her next breath was strangled by the sudden thinning of the air around her. “I suppose whatever Viserys told your mandia. Which in itself can’t have been much.” It was something she tried not the think about. The recent loss of Viserys had caused another chink to be carved out of her soul. Where he had gone, she didn’t know – no one did. She prayed he was simply wondering about, as her curious boy had loved to do as a child in the fields of Dragonstone. A darker piece of her heart suspected that was not the reality granted to her youngest son. The Fates would most likely tell her is she asked, but she didn’t know if she would ever be prepared enough to hear the answer to her question.

“And Aegon?”

“That depends on what Ned Stark deemed necessary to tell _Jon_ ,” seeing the dejected look on Rhaegar’s face she continued quickly, “He wears the pendant that had belonged to you as crown prince on a chain around his neck. So, he must know enough to want to keep it close. It’s hidden from view under his shirt, but it’s always there – has been since he was about ten and six, and it’s the first oath he broke as part of the Night’s Watch.” They both wore a small matching smile at the memory, as an afterthought Rhaella added, “Actually, he keeps you both close; there’s a winter rose tattooed on his left rib cage.”

Rhaegar smiled, “You’ve mentioned the rose before. Lyanna cried when I told her.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, as they watched the last two living Targaryens interact. They were beautiful together, she thought. Her daughter was a force to be reckoned with on her own, but together she knew that they would accomplish so much more. Jon didn’t ground Daenerys, instead, he seemed to help ignite her fire even more. Instead of allowing it to burn uncontrollably, he helped to focus it, allowing her to burn brighter without burning herself out. Together they would do great things, and along the way, they would help heal the wounds that they both shared.

“Where are they?”

“You don’t recognize it? They’re on the beaches of Dragonstone.” Rhaella’s brow furrowed for the briefest moment. “I think he’s planning on showing her the caves.” She had been pleasantly surprised when the two had made the long drive from Kings Landing to Dragonstone, and even she had to admit that Jon had hit the nail on the head with this plan.

“Those can hardly be considered beaches. Black sand and sharp volcanic rocks litter the ground, it was never the postcard image of a perfect beach.” He studied the image for a moment before the realization dawned on him. “He’s going to show her the First Children drawings?”

Rhaella hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s a very fitting date to go on with a cultural anthropologist, don’t you think?”

Rhaella knew Jon’s fidgeting was an indication he was insecure of this plan, but she was certain that Daenerys would be ecstatic to see the drawings. The drawings themselves had belonged to a private collection of historic artefacts that had been acquired by their family over the centuries. The acquisition and location of the First Children drawings, in particular, were not widely circulated amongst the general public, but their family had always welcomed researchers and occasional visitors to view them. She suspected that their lack of public notoriety is what had saved them from being damaged, or worse destroyed, when all their family’s holdings were ceased by the Baratheons and Lannisters in the crusade against her late husband.

A smile threatened to break across her face as she thought about how upset Daenerys would be at not having discovered the drawings herself. Though it was through no fault of her own. Daenerys had only been to Dragonstone once as a child and it was for a school trip none the less. Rhaella remembered the awe in Daenerys’ face as they approached the black cliffs of Dragonstone. In her hands was an old worn leather notebook that Daenerys filled with drawings of dragons and stories about the Targaryens of past. Daenerys had been almost vibrating with energy for half the day as she patiently waited to ask more questions and learn new stories. But after asking only one question, Daenerys’ face turned pale and the wonderment died in her eyes. She hadn’t dared ask any other questions after that and the book she had clutched tightly the entire morning was noticeably absent afterwards.

Another pang went through Rhaella’s heart, knowing that even if her daughter wanted to find more about their history, almost all the firsthand records from the family archives had been captured and burned in the rebellion. Her daughter had learned about her forefathers from the mouths of historians. Rhaella dreaded to know how they had painted her family. Beautiful tales about dragons and warrior kings and queens, had most likely been turned into nightmares and horror stories.

The movement of white fur and crimson eyes bounding happily along the black sand shores brought her attention back to the pair in front of her. On occasion, the direwolf would bound away from the couple, darting briefly out of sight before returning to run circles around them as they strode. His nose bumping into their free palms, no doubt looking for scratches or treats – most likely the latter.

“How does _Jon_ -,” the name fell awkwardly from Rhaegar’s lips. “How does he know about the drawings? I thought their records were erased?”

“Ned Stark. I don’t know what prompted him, but he took Jon away one summer on one of his business trips, they stopped in Dragonstone.”

“Odd choice of vacationing spots for a Stark. Especially if Robert was still alive,” Rhaegar noted bitterly. His eyes were trained on the back wall and a hazy cloud settled over his vision as he spoke, “I suppose we should be grateful.”

“A relic has been preserved thanks to his actions. Do not look too closely at why.” Rhaella would never fully understand the motivations of that man, and never dared to ask him. But for whatever reason, Ned Stark had – thankfully – felt that it was important enough to not only defy Robert’s orders by reading through the Targaryen archives before burning them, but he also saved pieces of history and he willingly shared this with his nephew.

“Honourable until the end,” Rhaegar muttered.

It was a sore subject for Rhaegar – rightly so. To say that Rhaegar was displeased when he heard that his son was being masqueraded as a bastard by the Starks would be a gross understatement. It had taken ages for Lyanna to convince Rhaegar that this was her brother’s way of trying to carry out her dying wish. Even so, that hadn’t stopped Rhaegar from expressing bitterness over the situation during bouts of depression.

Rhaella wasn’t daft enough to believe that was the main source of Rhaegar’s displeasure. Rather, she suspected that his jealousy was being masqueraded as anger, stemming from the physical presence of Ned Stark for the majority of Jon’s life.

Looping her arm through his elbow and leaning further into Rhaegar’s side, Rhaella spoke with years of experience in calming irate men, “They are happy now. Let’s just enjoy the moment with them.”

The light emanating from the pool of had diminished greatly the further the pair wandered into the cave. The outline of their bodies was only visible as shadows along the stone walls. Occasionally a beam of light from Jon’s torch would be refracted by the dragonglass fragments melted into the cave’s surface, and momentarily painted their faces in a soft amber glow before they would be plunged into darkness again.

“May I ask you something? I do not wish to upset you.”

“Of course.”

Rhaegar seemed to weigh something in his mind before he contemplated aloud, “Do you ever feel like a voyeur standing here?”

“Daor,” Rhaella hissed, flinching at the question. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gathered herself. “They say that a mother sees everything, is this not the same?” she tried to joke, but it fell flat under the weight of Rhaegar’s scrutiny.

Rhaella could admit that to an outsider the pleasure and comfort she got in watching the last of the Targaryen lineage could be thought of as voyeuristic. But she had stopped thinking on it long ago and made her peace knowing that to some it may seem like an invasion of privacy. Rhaella reasoned that had she been alive with them, she would’ve been privy to these details anyway. And for the moments she wouldn’t have been, she had set hard limits for herself, creating boundaries of what she would and wouldn’t allow herself to watch. Doing so, meant that she never felt like an intruder. And she learned to think of her relationship with them and the pool as that of a casual observer, rather than a voyeur long ago.

“I do not think this is what they had intended by that statement.”

“I need to make sure they are okay,” she argued as she was bombarded by feelings of desperation and fear. If she lost this connection to them – she didn’t dare finish that thought.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to soothe her thumb across the palm of her hands. It was a habit she had picked up in childhood. Aerys had hated when she did it, claiming that it made her seem meek and unsure – something a queen should never be he would say.

In a more vulgar interpretation of the question, Rhaella could honestly say that those were the only details of their lives that she was grateful for missing. Dark memories of seeing the aftermath of her daughter’s appearance after nights with the Khal flooded the forefront of her mind. She had been helpless as she watched the light in her daughter’s eyes begin to diminish. It was one of the few situations that Rhaella was grateful that she was absent for. The change in Daenerys bore a striking resemblance to Rhaella’s own memories of many angry and hate-filled nights with Aerys, and had only served to fuel her anger as she watched that _boy_ impregnate her young daughter with misguided dreams and hopes of a future that would never exist. The arguments that they had also sounded too familiar to Rhaella. Immediately, she had recognized them as the same arguments she and Aerys had in his quest for more power. Rhaella wished to the ends of the Earth she could have been present to spare her daughter from having to learn firsthand what a person’s desire for power caused. The Gods had granted small mercies, and her daughter, being smarter than her mother, was able to extract herself from that relationship before they both hurt each other in worse ways.

“I know. I would never stop you. I rely on your stories too much as well. But sometimes I wonder how intrusive it is. How fair-.”

“It wasn’t fair that they were ripped from us when they were babes,” she hissed, as her anger flared.

_ The memories of her first years here were all filled with the desperation to know the status of her surviving family. _

“I know,” Rhaegar’s breath hitched, “I’m sorry.”

Pulling a long breath, Rhaella gave herself a moment to calm her flaring temper. “No, I know. I'm sorry.”

_ She had walked around feeling as if she was being suffocated. She couldn’t bring herself to go near Shaena. The guilt she felt as she heard the eldest princess crying as Rhaella coddled her brothers was torturous. _

_ But she couldn’t do it. _

_ She couldn’t look into her oldest daughter’s eyes knowing that all she would be imagining were the lifeless eyes of her sister. _

“Muña?” concern laced his voice.

A choked sob was the only response she was capable of giving. He hadn’t called her by that name since he was a child. A heavy veil of water clouded her eyes.

_ She recalled what it felt like as she died: her cries were muffled by the angry sounds of the storm outside. Through blurry eyes, she could make out the creeping pool of blood against the cotton sheets and could feel the growing dampness of the bed underneath her. _

_ A final roll of thunder clapped overhead. _

_ There was nothing after that. _

She felt Rhaegar shift from her side and move in front of her, obstructing her view of the pool. As he pulled her into his chest, she reflexively allowed herself to rest her ear over his left breast. It was a familiar action – one she had done every night when he and Viserys were children. And every night she heard the fluttering of their hearts thrumming in her ear, was another night she could rest with the reassurance that she had done her job and kept them safe for another day.

Burrowing her ear deeper into his chest, she pleaded silently, wanting nothing more than to hear their heartbeats again, even just once.

_Rhaella had wanted to die all over again when she awoke here. No one could tell her where her daughter was_.

There was only silence as his chest rose with artificial breaths.

_ She hadn’t been there to protect either child. _

The fates had been just as cruel as they had been kind.

_ When Jon had been injured in that final compromised operation, Rhaella had felt the shrapnel lodging itself in his abdomen. She felt the knife being thrust between his 5th and 6th ribs. She knew that they cracked under the force the assailant used as he twisted the knife. They both struggled for breath as blood filled his thoracic cavity. _

Tears and sobs began to heavily rack through Rhaella’s frame.

_ She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t done her job. _

“Muña,” Rhaegar soothed, his hands running along her spine as she cried into his chest. “Look at them,” he urged softly.

_ She wasn’t there. _

“Look at them,” he urged again. “They’re alive. They’re together. And as you said earlier, they’ll soon be as older than us. You don’t need to protect us anymore muña. There is nothing else for you to do.”

It was silent for a while before Rhaegar continued, “Let go. Trust in them to protect each other.”

“I miss them,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I know,” his gentle laughter reverberated through his body. He dropped a chaste kiss to her temple. “I miss them too.”

Pulling away from his arms, she offered Rhaegar a watery smile. She ignored the feeling of his eyes studying her. “Come on, let’s just watch them for a while,” there was a silent plea to her words.

For every dark moment in their lives, she was grateful for the overabundance of light ones. Words would never be capable of capturing the emotions that Rhaella felt seeing that despite the darkness that edged its way into Jon and Daenerys’ life, there was just as much if not more brightness and light.

There were times, where she simply sat in the shallow pool and allowed the water to wade gently around her lower half. Those moments allowed her to feel closest to them. She would skim her fingertips against the surface, each time she swore that she didn’t feel cool wetness beneath her fingertips, but rather she could feel the supple velveteen warmth of skin.

When Daenerys was five, she had stolen a music box from Viserys’ room and used it to listen to music long after being sent off to bed. She had kept it hidden in her chambers for weeks on end. And every time the familiar chimes rang through her room Daenerys would light up with joy at the magic of the delicate ballerina figurine dancing to the music. Her childlike giggles filled the soundless nights, warming the cold marble columns as she spun around her room, dancing and humming along to the melodies that played. Rhaella’s crown had somehow also been procured by the young girl, and despite Daenerys’ best efforts, the crown would always fall to sit precariously on her head by the time the second verse played. Miraculously, the heavy crown never fell much to Rhaella’s amusement.

Breaking from her routine one night, Daenerys stared shyly at her bed. Rhaella had been confused until Daenerys meekly asked _‘Ser Daeron’_ to dance. Sweeping the stuffed dog into her arms they danced together until Daenerys collapsed on the floor in a pile of laughter. Ever the proper princess in training, Daenerys eventually righted herself, dropping into a proper curtsey and thanked _Ser Daeron_ for the dance.

As the final notes played out there was a visible change in the young girl. Daenerys’ arms swung listlessly at her side before coming to wrap protectively around her middle as tears welled in her violet eyes. Rhaella’s dead heart stopped for a second time as a quiet confession of loneliness thundered in the Great Room. Daenerys wasn’t a child at that moment, she had seen and heard too much. Rhaella knew then, that Daenerys was frighteningly aware of more than people gave her credit for.

For the second time that night, Daenerys starred into the black button eyes of her favoured stuffed dog, only it seemed as if her daughter was staring through Ser Daeron’s eyes at _her_ as she asked for another dance.

_“Spin,”_ Daenerys said, smiling as her pink nightdress billowed from her waist. Unaware of her mother’s turmoil, Daenerys hadn’t let her sadness stop her fun, and soon enough the little girl began trailing across her room again.

_“Spin,”_ she repeated. In her outstretched arms, she and Ser Daeron spun around the room.

_“Spin_.” Rhaella agreed, and unable to refuse her daughter anything Rhaella rose from her position on the floor and allowed herself to be swept away by the music as she embraced the joy that radiated from her daughter. Joining Daenerys, the white skirt she wore danced in the wind.

Laughter and the sounds of water sloshing around filled the great room as mother and daughter danced together. Even if they were apart.

When Daenerys had finally been taken hostage by the Sandman, Rhaella had to pull herself away from watching the steady rise and fall of Daenerys’ chest as she slept. Outside of the Great Room, Rhaella found herself staring at her reflection, her hair was plastered to her scalp and her dress was leaving its own pool of water in her wake. As broken as she had just felt, this was also the first time Rhaella remembered feeling light and happy since she had passed. She had felt like a mother again.

“She’s like a child playing in the dirt,” Rhaegar said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Taking another moment to observe the image in front of her, Rhaella nodded in agreement. She was right earlier; Daenerys was ecstatic at the discovery of the First Children drawings. Jon had barely said anything the entire time as Daenerys continued to chatter mostly to herself about the possible meanings of the stories depicted on the wall. He didn’t seem to mind every time she flashed him an appreciative smile before launching into another tirade. 

She was warmed by the look of fondness in his eyes.

“How long until Daenerys starts tasting the dirt?” Rhaegar asked dryly.

A burst of laughter exploded from her chest. “She’s not an archaeologist.”

“Oh, so the other anthropology disciplines have standards?”

“It was only because one of her professors had suggested it to her class.”

“That doesn’t make it any better. She willingly ate dirt because someone told her that you could _taste_ time.”

Rhaella tilted her head as she tried to see what Daenerys was pointing out to Jon. “I suppose.”

“You can’t possibly be able to _taste_ time.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it. Have you?” she teased.

Rhaegar blanched at the thought. “How is that even supposed to work?”

“The layers in the strata have varying levels of mineral deposits. If you become familiar enough with the composition of each strata -.”

“You mean eaten a lot of dirt,” Rhaegar interrupted.

Rhaella shot him a glare, but the amusement in her eyes gave her away. “You should theoretically be able to tell where, or what time frame …,” her voice trailed off as movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. “Oh!”

“What?”

“Perhaps we should go now,” Rhaella pleaded. Moving quickly, she tugged on Rhaegar’s arm in an attempt to usher him out of the room before he could make out the image before them.

Peeking over her shoulder, fresh _happy_ tears fell as she caught another glimpse of Jon and Daenerys together.

This would be the start of their happily ever after.

She loved her family. Loved her children and her grandchildren. But she also struggled knowing that there were two members of her family that she missed greatly, yet, was in no hurry to be reunited with.

“Avy jorrāelan,” she whispered as the large oak doors closed with a heavy thud.

It caught her off guard, the knowledge that she didn’t need to protect her family from their father or the courts anymore. As Rhaegar reminded her, she couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

The Fates once tried to explain how her constant presence in the great room would affect them, but the most she had gathered was that at its strongest. Akin to feeling as if being watched and protected by a guardian angel. Rhaella didn’t quite know how to interpret that, nor did she know how true it was. She couldn’t ever remember feeling as if she had someone looking out for her while she was alive. But that didn’t stop her from hoping that perhaps her presence in the pool, watching them, would be translated back and provide them with some measure of comfort. She prayed that was enough.

It was a lesson she was still learning. She had done all that she could for her sons. Trusting someone else to protect her daughter and grandson would be difficult. But she needed to have faith that they would protect one another in her absence.

It was true, a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, but they were not alone anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For updates and to see what else I'm working on you can find me on [Tumblr](https://elizastormborn.tumblr.com).  
> You can also check out this story's dedicated page [Here](https://elizastormborn.tumblr.com/intheeverafter) for some behind the scenes fun.
> 
> Stay safe! ♥︎  
> ________
> 
> Translations are credited to this [online translator](https://lingojam.com/EnglishtoValyrianTranslator)  
> Mandia = Sister  
> Muña = Mother  
> Daor = No  
> Avy jorrāelan = I love you


End file.
